


The Lies of the Living

by ajfessler



Series: In the End [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angry Clint Barton, BAMF Tony Stark, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Dark Clint Barton, Homophobia, M/M, Mild Language, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Iron Man 3, Pre-Relationship, SHIELD doesn't like Clint Barton being a real person, Tattoos, not SHIELD friendly, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-07 21:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajfessler/pseuds/ajfessler
Summary: SHIELD owns him, Fury uses him, Phil respected him. Anger sustains him and trust is a luxury other people can afford. In the cut throat world where Clint Barton walks along a knife's edge of Fury's patience what will a rag tag team of head strong individualist do to his sanity?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. The summary sucks, but I don't know if this is something anyone wants to read and as such it's pretty much complete (IMO). If anyone wants more I can always be talked in to writing it. This has been sitting in my Misc Fic file for six months? I don't know, but I think it's pretty much the best thing that I've ever written and as such should be read. By someone other than me. 
> 
> Let me know what you think.
> 
> k Bye.  
> -AJ

The lights of the city glittered through the windows. Floor to ceiling like all the best billionaire mansions. A gilded cage; but a prison no different than the ever watchful eyes which had imprisoned him for the previous decade. It was better than being incarcerated, but not by much. He’d been there and done that a couple of times. Leaning a shoulder against the windows, Clint lets the glass leech away his warmth. His gaze was drawn downwards to the cycle of traffic lights as they flipped. Green, yellow, red. Repeat. Somewhere in the suite, a clock chimed four. Sleep had eluded him once more. Lost in shades of hazy blue, sticky reds, and an eyeball. Always that damned eyeball.

Just one more thing in his life that he could be angry about; just one more thing SHIELD would order him to pretend he wasn’t angry about.

Dim illumination from street level shimmered across the exposed flesh of his chest and arms. His tattoos, which were typically hidden, fully displayed for the first time in half a decade. They covered every available scrap of skin and told a tale of triumph and failure. The most prominent and prolific were the flowers; Clint had eighty-seven of them and was running out of room. There were too many deaths and not enough space. Soon, Clint knew, he would have to choose a new way to honor the lives he stole. Deserving of death or not, life was precious and should be respected and honored. It grated on his nerves that SHIELD insisted that every last tattoo be covered with their specially designed putty. To hide the mosaic of his life. Every hint that Clint Barton was not the upstanding citizen their contract required him to pretend to be had to be covered, erased. Sanitized out of his persona until he fit their template of white male American. 

Since the little container the putty came in was not in the bag Fury had thrown at him when SHIELD psych had declared him safe enough Clint assumed that his required image didn’t need to be maintained while within the confines of the Tower. He wasn’t safe, and if he had anything to say about it, Clint Barton would never be safe enough. Which was weird because the feeling Clint got from regular SHIELD agents was that his little act of obedience was taken as truth. There were no more side-eye looks when he walked through the halls. When he declared he was going to do something no one questioned it. Pausing to consider it, Clint thought that the last time anyone had insisted that he be accompanied by at least one additional agent had been at least a year before and only because they wanted someone in place to be backup just in case. Clint shook his head if SHIELD thought he’d drank their Kool-aid that was all the better. Their tame little assassin, willing and eager to trot out and please his masters. Which, blasphemy but useful. He would never forget the contract which tied a collar around his neck. He would never not be angry.

In fact, the only thing that kept Clint loyal to SHIELD and Fury was the contract. It had been a sign or die moment, and some days when Clint mused over that moment, he wondered if dying wouldn’t have been the better option. That contract though gave SHIELD the right and permission to use, abuse and destroy him as they saw fit. They told him how to talk, to walk, to dress. They provided him a history and a name. Demanded that he permit a marriage to a SHIELD agent who needed to retire from active duty but still wanted to help the ‘cause’. In return for his capitulation and expertise, SHIELD would ensure the basic necessities of life were received. Clint sneered, his payment as it were. 

Pushing away from the glass Clint wandered out of the suite, bare feet making barely a whisper of sound. If he couldn’t sleep, coffee was required. At zero dark hundred in the morning, Clint wasn’t expecting to run into the only other occupant and thus didn’t bother with any more clothing than already wearing. Who was around to see him? Not Stark, as if the man would care anyway with his well-documented playboy ways. 

If he were completely honest, paranoia had ruled his life for the first two weeks of his stay while his brain ran in circles wondering what was going to be demanded of him in return for the largess provided. The suite Jarvis had directed him to had been filled with everything that he might ever need. Clothing in sizes which would comfortably fit him, shower necessities in a pine scent which was surprisingly pleasing, and weapons. 

Clint had run reverent shaking fingers over the cache of knives located in a locked box under the bed. That hadn’t been all either. In a secret compartment in his closet, he had found archery gear, the bottom drawer of the dresser held several guns. SHIELD never permitted him weapons while not on a mission. That was a freedom reserved for upstanding, productive members of society. It had gone unspoken that Clint would never be inducted into those ranks.

Except, nothing had happened. No one had appeared. No mission specs had been delivered. No Fury, no Stark, no demands. It was still screwing with his head, but Jarvis had informed him that Stark wanted nothing more than Clint’s stay to be comfortable. Despite his vow to never get attached to anyone ever again, Clint had found himself inclined towards his host. Without knowing anything further about Stark than his willingness to sacrifice himself for New York and the outfitting of the suite, Clint found himself inclined to like the genius. A dangerous pastime.

The lights of the elevator were bright after the shadows of the suite. Mirrored walls gave him a brief glimpse of his appearance, which was ignored with practiced ease. Turning his back on the view, Clint selected the number for the kitchen. Jarvis could have done it for him, but his anxiety liked being able to push a button. The view he got from the polished doors was blurry and distorted enough that even Clint’s impeccable vision couldn’t distinguish details. It wasn’t that Clint had any shame. What little shame might have survived an orphanage and Carson’s Carnies had been eradicated in the first two years of his life with SHIELD. They hadn’t left him alone for even a minute, terrified that the moment they relaxed their guard, he would find a way to escape their rule. Smart of them, because Clint would have made an attempt the instant they turned their backs in those first days. 

It hadn’t been until he had been assigned to Phil Coulson that the surveillance had eased and Clint had been given the privilege to sleep and shower without someone looking over his shoulder. Through sheer pig-headed determination, Clint did not think about what was going to happen to him when SHIELD came once more calling. Coulson, and the privileges that the man had stood for with Clint, had been mowed down by an alien with a glow stick. And it had been all Clint’s fault it happened. It had been his plan, his directions, his command. That Loki had done the dirty work didn’t absolve Clint of the deed.

The elevator doors opened, and the smell of coffee drifted lazily into the confines. A frown pulled the corners of his mouth downwards. Change never boded well. Carefully, on silent feet, Clint edged forward towards the kitchen. In the archway, Clint stopped. The lights were on low putting Stark on display. The man was sitting at the breakfast bar, a long-fingered hand holding up his head. Sleeves rolled up, tie undone, slacks wrinkled and a suit coat thrown haphazardly over a remaining chair. Clint viewed the tableaux carefully and came to the conclusion that Stark looked rundown. As if the inventor was tired beyond all ability to withstand.

An irrational desire to move forward and offer what little comfort Clint could bloomed in his chest. Of all the people in the world, Stark shouldn’t have been sitting in his kitchen alone at four something in the morning. The billionaire should have some darling little trophy wife that any moment would move out of the shadows and hustle him to bed. It wouldn’t happen, Clint didn’t know where Pepper Potts was in the world, but he was damn sure that the woman would never fit the caring, nurturing person that Clint envisioned by Stark’s side. She was too focused on being CEO of Stark Industries to have any energy left over to deal with its namesake.

Shifting away from the wall Clint decided to leave Stark to his demons. And just because Clint’s luck sucked half the time it was at that precise moment when the genius looked up; their gazes locked. Clint noted surprise from the man but nothing more. So, Stark had known he was in the Tower. Which was one worry taken off of his shoulders. No need to defend his presence. Clint yielded to his original plan and entered the lit space finishing his quest for coffee. As he moved, Clint kept an eye on his host waiting for any sign that his presence wasn’t permitted, or desired. 

Instead of revulsion all Clint got was a widening of Stark’s eyes as he shifted out of the shadows and the tattoos became visible. Clint knew what he looked like, knew the air of danger that hovered around him. Even in pajama pants, Clint Barton exuded death and destruction. Out of the corner of his eye, Clint watched as Stark sat up and openly stared. Clint didn’t know if it was for the tattoos or the physique. Both of which he’d been told were impressive and had gotten him laid more times than he could count.

Clint didn’t acknowledge the attention until after he had a cup of coffee in his hands. The heat of the liquid infusing the ceramic of his mug almost too hot to hold. As he was turning, Stark broke the silence remarking, “If you are Fury’s idea of an apology, let him know I accept.”

While refusing to think about how Fury would exploit Clint to gain complacency regarding Stark and the genius’s technology if the director ever heard that, Clint smirked and asked in return, “Something you like?”

Clint wouldn’t say he lacked in anything he needed, but when Stark’s calloused fingers trailed every so gently over the line of a tattoo it was all he could do not to shiver and lean into the touch. It had been so long since his last lover. He definitely wasn’t expecting that touch to burn through his middle and down his spine. For arousal to pool like hot coals just below his navel. Fury would kill him. It would be well worth it. 

Looking into those amber eyes and seeing interest in return made Clint’s unsteady resolve waiver further. Clint sipped his coffee; a devil may care attitude blossoming as the genius’s gaze never strayed. Heated and charged like the air before a lightning strike Clint felt his smirk widen ever so slightly as Stark replied, “I just might.”

With deliberate motions, Clint set his coffee mug down before spinning Stark into the counter and blocking his escape with body and arms. Their faces were mere inches apart when Clint whispered, voice dangerously soft “You should tell me no.”

He pressed into Stark and took surprisingly compliant lips into a kiss. Clint’s eyes drifted shut to a shocked noise and chilled hands coming to rest against his chest. He expected to get pushed away. Good, rational sense would have made anyone else shove him away. But Stark surprised him as the lips beneath his own softened, parted, drew him in and sent desire further searing through his veins. The hands against him shifted, ghosting upwards to coil around his shoulders. Enticing him to close what little remaining distance existed between the two of them. 

The moment was far more intimate that Clint had intended, which started red flags popping up in his head. But he allowed Stark to pull back without complaint and let an appreciative grin suffuse his features. It was one hell of a kiss if nothing else. Clint could distinctly remember the last time he had been kissed like it mattered and ruthlessly shut down that line of thinking. Wrapped in Stark’s arms in the middle of the man’s kitchen was no place to dwell on dead lovers. The too prominent features in front of him had sharpened with assertion before Stark asked, voice deceptively casual, “And just what would you do if I did say no?”

A flash of rage scorched through his veins, an emotion he was well acquainted with. It was a close sibling of anger and anger was his constant. Clint closed his eyes and rode out the emotion. Stark didn’t know him any more than he knew the genius for all that Clint was confident that the other man had hacked into SHIELD secure files to dig up any information on the newly declared Avengers. Opening his eyes, Clint firmly stated, “I’m no monster Stark, to take what isn’t freely given.” 

He held himself still hands braced against the countertop while those intriguing amber eyes darted back and forth as the mind behind them weighed his words. The next statement out of Stark didn’t surprise Clint at all, “Your file tells a different story you know. They labeled you a serial killer.” 

He raised an eyebrow in amusement at that, his kill count had probably told Stark the same thing. Clint didn’t like killing. He was good at it, felt pride when he made a difficult or challenging shot, but he didn’t go looking for targets. There were plenty of people the world around willing to pay him large sums of money to take down problems. Why do something for free when he could get paid for it? 

Stark wasn’t finished though as the genius continued, “You were part of my briefing packet when Loki started his bid for world domination. The details were surprisingly vanilla in the file they gave me. But I’m Tony Stark, and that rules, boundaries, limitations bullshit is for lesser mortals. I’m pretty sure that Fury derives amusement out of watching me search for answers that he’s sitting on. Since he won’t respect me and just give them to me, I don’t respect him and go find them. Romanoff’s file was pretty expected and read like a bad sitcom. Brucie’s was thankfully lacking a few pertinent details as was my own. Project Rebirth was a fascinating read when I was ten and obsessed with Captain America. I didn’t even bother with Thor, who cares about gods? Then there was you, with your red compromised stamp. No special powers, or suits. Nothing. Just some idiot from Iowa with a paleolithic weapon who’s married.” 

He felt the corners of his mouth turning up in amusement despite the adrenaline surging through his system as fight or flight instincts started in response to the presented threat. Stark had discovered quite a significant bit about him, all wrong of course. But that was more because SHIELD thought it if wrote the details they wanted down enough eventually it would be true. 

“It wasn’t hard to find all sorts of interesting facts, once I knew what I was looking for of course. I was very impressed with your kill count and even more impressed with the quality of those kills. Not a single decent person in the list. Then I came across a very heavily encrypted file. You wanna know what I found there?”

Clint’s breath froze in his chest and tension snapped through his frame hardening his features with anger and ice. He had a good idea what Stark had found in that encrypted file. There were only two things it could have been: his contract or the location of the little farce of a family that Fury had bequeathed him. Attempting to take a step back again strong hands grabbed hold of his neck. The action was startling enough that Clint met Stark’s gaze and saw only anger reflected back. The next words the genius uttered rocked Clint’s world. He had never heard Tony Stark angry before. “Fury’s farce of an employment contract. So tell me, Clint Barton, how tame are you?” 

It clicked then, what Stark was thinking. Immediately the tension that had coiled up, ready to explode should the need arise drained. The genius in front of him had been under the impression that Clint had been sent by Fury to spy, through any means necessary. It was easy to offer reassurances to the contrary, “If you read my file Stark, then you know I’m Fury’s pit bull. I don’t get honeypots, can’t be trusted not to slip my leash. Only Coulson thought I was anything more than a rabid animal to be loosed when SHIELD had run out of civilized options. It’s why I’m non-negotiable, non-renewable.”

Clint recognized the look on Stark’s face then, suspicion. It sent a surge of satisfaction through him. Stark shouldn’t trust SHIELD, they might be the good guys but only nominally so. Decisions and orders for the greater good. Men with families, homes, lovers. Assassinations that Clint executed because he’d been given an order, even if he didn’t agree with them. He shifted back in against Stark, hands cradling hips and craning his neck down to breath his statement against the genius’s neck, “This I can promise Stark; if Fury wanted your secrets, he wouldn’t have sent me. You’d be dead if he’d sent me. I shoot things, remember?” 

The body in his hold shivered as Stark said, “Well, alright then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Tony have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, by semi-popular demand of 3 of 4 commenters, have another chapter. This takes place after IM3 but before CA:WS. 
> 
> Again, if you want this to continue you've got to let me know. I have other projects I'm working on and need to know if it's really worth it to add another. 
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos. I love them all. :)
> 
> -Aj

Clint walked out of his bathroom towel drying his hair. He’d just finished buzzing it back to short and showering to rinse off the clipped hair. It was a requirement of Fury that Clint didn’t mind complying to, short hair didn’t give an opponent something to grab in the middle of a fist fight.

Moving out into his bedroom he wasn’t surprised to find Stark in his bed. That had been happening more and more frequently since their first meeting in the communal kitchen and the resulting sex they’d had on the couch. The encounters that occurred regularly were phenomenal, some of the best sex Clint had ever had, but it always felt like something was missing. 

Weeks had passed while Clint puzzled it over. Two or three times a week, Clint would wander into his room to find Stark already there. One memorable time, naked and already prepared. Mouth running a mile a minute to goad Clint into taking control and making it rough. He’d taken the control so readily offered and made sure Stark would feel it the next day but that time wasn’t rough. Clint only did rough when mission orders demanded it. Otherwise, he liked to cherish his partners. 

A fact of his life that sent all sorts of mixed signals to his partners. They ended up thinking that he was emotionally invested in an actual relationship when he wasn’t. Stark was one of the few partners he’d ever had that didn’t seem to want or expect more than mind blowing sex from him. It probably helped that Clint had been firm and forthright from the beginning that emotional attachments were a big no for him. That conversation had happened immediately following their first tumble. Clint couldn’t afford for Stark to get attached. Hell, Clint couldn’t afford himself to get attached to Stark. Fury would overlook Clint screwing his teammate if he thought it was just stress relief. Fury would never ignore Clint entering a relationship, especially a relationship with another man. It wouldn’t fit the image the man had forced Clint to build for the last decade. 

Pulling on jeans, Clint zipped them up as he turned to regard Stark on his bed. Dread curled through him at the sight of the genius. Frowning, Clint demanded, “What the fuck happened to you? I was only gone for two weeks.” 

There was an impressive black eye and several healing cuts. Clint was sure that if Tony hadn’t enveloped himself in his socially acceptable armor of a business suit, there would be further visible injuries. 

“Took out a terrorist with the contents of Home Depot?” 

Flippancy, Clint hated it. Especially when it came from Stark. Because the man had developed the habit in response to his father. That had been one contract Clint had wanted. The hit on Howard Stark would have kept him fed for life even with his conservative bid. Surveillance and assassination. Clint had gotten the surveillance, but the hit had gone to a third party that he hadn’t been able to trace. Rumor said that the Winter Soldier had taken the hit. Not that Clint could verify it. 

With a sigh, Clint moved towards the bed and took Stark’s face in his hands to get a better look at the injuries visible. Someone had cleaned the cuts, but the one on Stark’s cheek kept cracking open. Rolling his eyes, Clint moved to the bathroom and pulled out the medical kit he had smuggled in. Clint had access to SHIELD medical for injuries. Unfortunately, his contract didn’t allow him the freedom to tell them to piss off when they wanted a human test subject. So, for the most part, he took care of his own wounds.

Setting the kit down on the unused nightstand, Clint rummaged around for the surgical glue he knew was in there. Turning back to Stark, Clint ignored the genius as he protested that he was fine and didn’t need any medical attention. Taking Stark’s face in his hands, Clint gently cleaned the cut. Pinching the skin together he applied the glue and then held Stark still while it dried. 

Once Clint was satisfied that he’d done the best Stark would allow he cleaned up the used supplies and returned the kit to the bathroom. He was surprised when Stark was still lounging right where he had been since Clint had come out from his shower. 

Settling down on the bed, so he was facing Stark, Clint asked, “You want to try that again, genius?”

The familiar anger at the injustice of the world bubbled up in the face of Stark’s hesitation. For a moment Clint thought the man might actually talk to him. He knew that everyone had been urging Stark to talk to someone about everything the man had gone through and out of all the possibilities in Stark’s circle Clint was probably the only one who could relate to literally everything the man had endured. And probably the only one who wouldn’t use that information against him. Natasha would be a good second choice, but the Black Widow was about as approachable as a cactus and just as prickly. 

Clint wasn’t surprised when Stark said, “Nope, I’d rather see you lose those pants.” 

Leaning back to cover his sigh of disappointment, Clint posed with a suggestive leer firmly in place on his face before he said, “Not until I’ve got something more to look at.” 

It was a game of chicken, of that he was sure, concerning whether or not Stark would take the challenge or leave. Most people thought that the man was incapable of backing down from a fight. Clint knew differently. Stark picked his fights. Usually, very carefully. The beat down the man’s face displayed said that Stark had miscalculated somewhere in his most recent world saving endeavors. Not badly enough that Clint felt the need to say something, but there had definitely been a miscalculation somewhere. 

With a thrill, Clint watched as Stark removed shoes, cufflinks, watch and tie before hesitating. Somehow the domesticity of those simple actions caused Clint’s libido to sing. He thought it might be because it showed that the genius was comfortable enough in Clint’s presence to relax. Trust would come soon enough if it had happened already. Trust, Clint knew from experience was dangerous. For both of them. Clint would never forgive himself if anything happened to Stark because Fury learned that Stark could be used as leverage against Clint. 

His attention was riveted as Stark started to slowly undo the buttons of the vest he had taken to wearing. That the man didn’t stop but immediately started on the buttons of his shirt surprised Clint. He’d never seen the arc reactor without a layer of cloth between them. He felt his eyebrow rise in question, but all Stark did was give a shrug. This was going to be one of those non-issue issues then, the ones that were huge landmines between them that never got spoken about.

The genius stood up from the bed and dropped both shirt and vest. Clint got his first glimpse of the device that was keeping the man alive. All in all, Clint thought it was rather pretty even as his practical side said that it was the biggest liability he’d ever seen. Instead of dwelling on the reactor, Clint reached out and took Stark’s hips in his hands and proceeded to tease the skin revealed just above the man’s pant line. Hands trailing over firm thighs and almost touching the growing bulge in the front of his face.

Humming in pleasure when he dipped a thumb under the hem and discovered that it was just a piece of thin fabric between him and more skin Clint asked, “How much do you love these pants?”

The strangled response, “Not enough to stop you,” only urged Clint on. Instead of ripping the gray slacks as Clint assumed was what Stark thought would happen, he moved down to mouth along the line of the genius’s cock. A hand threaded through his hair to press him closer, and Clint smirked. Apparently Stark didn’t find clothed sex weird enough to say stop. 

With tacit approval, Clint bent to the task of taking the genius apart through his pants. Licking and sucking at the wet spot that appeared as Clint taunted and teased through the material. The whimpers and moans coming from above him, coupled with the shaking fingers trying and failing to pull at his hair normally would have been a potent turn on. At that moment though it did nothing for him except provide a sense of pride and joy at pleasing his partner. So, when Stark’s knees buckled as the man came, all Clint did was shift them both so they could tumble into his bed.

Clint’s smirk was satisfied as he propped himself up on an elbow and watched as Stark got his breathing back under control. It grew into a satisfied smile when the genius said, “That was hotter than it should have been.” 

Shrugging, Clint said, “Fantasy of mine since SHIELD got their claws in me.” 

He heard a rumble that was almost an amused laugh from his companion before Stark asked, “So what other fantasies has SHIELD brought to light and how likely is it that we can check a few off the list?”

Clint sighed, “Stark.” 

His tone of voice must have said everything because Stark immediately raised his head so their eyes could meet before the genius babbled, “What? The flight log told me you landed two days ago or does the no sex for twenty-four hours after missions rule only start after you get back here? What am I missing here Hawkeye?”

Clint stared stunned. Stark kept track of flight logs when he was gone, even while the man was tangoing with a terrorist. Blinking, Clint opened his mouth to explain and instead asked, “You keep track of flight logs?” 

Which earned him a frown before Stark said, “Of course. You wouldn’t have a leave me alone after missions speech if it wasn’t something you thought was important. So I. And by I, I actually mean Jarvis. Keep track of your flight logs, so I don’t invade before you’re in a place where you can deal with me. Pepper’s always telling me how I’m too much to handle on good days. I’d rather not push my luck by disrespecting your boundaries. Especially after what Fury did. Does.”

Something warm fluttered in Clint’s chest, and it was a challenge to keep a dopey lovesick smile off his face as he remarked, “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me. But the rule is less boundary and more practical. SHIELD dopes me up with a cocktail of performance enhancement drugs before every mission whose side effect is basically chemical castration. I get the counter when I return, and it usually takes twenty-four hours to work through my system.”

“Jesus, Barton. The more I learn about your situation, the more pissed I get. They have no right to put you through that.” Stark’s words felt like a balm over the cracks of his soul. For so long Fury’s will had been his entire life. For so long he had been angry about it. The shit was fucked up, Clint knew that, but it had always seemed like everyone else didn’t agree. Now, here was Stark. A man who had no emotional connection to him saying that the treatment he received at the hands of SHIELD wasn’t right. It was validation at its finest. Rolling onto his back, Clint closed his eyes at the surge of emotion. 

He pulled Stark into his side and whispered, “You shouldn’t say things like that, I might get attached.” 

There was a snort before Stark’s head settled against his shoulder. They laid there for a long moment before Stark said, “By my calculations, you’re already attached, but if it protects your delicate sensibilities I’ll refrain until I figure out how to clip Fury’s leash.” 

Clint sighed and opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling before he replied, “We’ve had this discussion Stark. Don’t stick your nose in it. Things are good right now, and I’d like to maintain that good for as long as possible.” 

The shoulders under his arm had stiffened before Stark demanded, “Then make me a promise that if it ever gets bad again, you’ll come to me?”

Clint ran his fingers through Stark’s hair a few times as he thought the request over. He nodded and said, “Deal, so long as you start talking about what happened in Afghanistan and whatever is bugging you about the Battle of New York.” 

Shifting so he could wrap both arms around Stark, Clint heard unarticulated grumbling before lips kissed his neck and Stark said, “Fine, you get to be my security blanket when the nightmares haunt me, and you’re not allowed to freak out if I accidentally call a suit in my sleep.” 

Smiling, Clint replied, “Done.”


	3. Chapter 3

Tony Stark had never been a sit anxiously at a lover's bedside kind of partner. He was the kind of spoiled rich brat who was in bed instead. Never the other way around. Not until Clint. 

He released a breath and sat back in his chair wiping a shaking hand over his lips. Being the waiting party was pretty sucky; Tony needed to remember to send an apology gift to Pepper for making her do this too many times.  It had been three days since they had brought Clint back from his mission to stop Steve. Tony hadn’t even known what SHIELD was thinking. Fury was dead, and they had pissed off the one guy you shouldn’t ever piss off. Captain America was on a rampage against SHIELD. And what did that super shady pseudo-government agency think would be a brilliant idea? Blow him up. 

Tony snorted, the sound loud in the oppressive silence. The only other noise the barely audible sound of a heart monitor. Its steady rhythm was soothing to his frazzled nerves. 

It was cute how they thought that Steve would just roll over and take orders like a good little soldier. The truth of the matter was that Steve was a terrible soldier, but even Tony would give the man props for being a halfway decent leader. One too many control issues, but Tony wasn’t about to fault anyone for those. The only real pet peeve he had with the super soldier was with the way Steve had to apologize. Tony got it, he just didn’t want to hear it. 

Didn’t want to hear that SHIELD had pitted his whatever Clint was to him against the super soldier so doped up that Clint hadn’t actually recognized Steve. Didn’t want to hear how Clint had fought well and honorably. Didn’t want to hear how Steve thought Clint was strong and would pull through without a problem. Didn’t want the pity when Steve inevitably showed up to give ‘moral’ support. 

Steve didn’t know what Tony knew. Steve didn’t know what the drugs given to Clint were supposed to do, to mimic. The entirety of the fall out of Peirce’s actions had started Tony on the trail of enlightenment. He was relieved beyond words that dear old dad had the brains to ensure that the Super Soldier serum formula he had successfully replicated (and subsequently lost) hadn’t been in the information dump or the files that hadn’t made it to the internet. A lot of other information that the public didn’t need had, but Tony could only do so much before someone got suspicious. If Steve had called and actually explained what he was going to do, Tony would have been more prepared and better able to funnel information. 

Instead, he’d been left to play pick up, to clean up the mess. At least Natasha was standing in the public eye for the trials. It was the only good thing that had come out of the entire debacle really since the Senate hated him. With good reason. 

Clint captured his attention once more. It was weird to see the man without any of the multitudes of tattoos showing. They were always covered moments before Clint left on missions and Tony had helped with that extensive and onerous chore for nearly a year. 

Soon Tony promised himself, as soon as he knew that Clint was going to wake up he was going to confront Fury. Without SHIELD there would be a vacuum of power just waiting for the right asshole to step up and take the reigns. Tony wasn’t about to let the contracts float around or worse remain in Fury’s control so the man could use them as bargaining chips. Furthermore, Tony wasn’t about to let someone like General Thaddeus Ross get his hands on them. Past experience proved that Ross had no more love or compassion for anything but himself. The nightmares about what Ross might or could do with four ridiculously trained semi-superheroes with an inability to tell him no had started shortly after Clint had been stabilized. Sleep hadn’t been on the top of his priority list as a result.  

Standing Tony walked to the window. Leaning his hip against the sill, he stared out into the night. The stars couldn’t be seen from his vantage point to make a wish. Tony knew they were up there, above the lights and skyscrapers. Absently wondering if a person needed to see a star to wish upon it, he sighed. They wouldn’t know if an overdose of the S chemical caused damage until Clint woke up and as much as Tony wanted his sort of lover to return to the land of consciousness he was also dreading it.

The only person who had a working knowledge of the chemical had been former SHIELD physician Dr. Conifer Pine. Steve wouldn't approve of his methods of controlling her, but there was no line that Tony wouldn’t cross to ensure Clint was always safe in the Tower. The implant was harmless so long as Jarvis didn’t feel she was threatening Clint and then it would proceed to superheat her soft tissue until it exploded out of her skull. And if his doctors hadn’t been at a loss and insisting that they were working on a very short time frame the woman wouldn’t have even been invited in with that stipulation. 

Tony was sure Clint wouldn’t react well to that, he’d found her files after all. It was how he’d known who to grab when it became apparent Clint needed help faster than his brain could work. She’d insisted on treating Clint once the initial crisis had been averted. Tony had left that decision to his medical professionals. They had all been made aware of Clint’s medical file. It made him sick to read through it. Through the medical experimentation and dubious medical practices. To realize that the medical kit in Clint’s bathroom was the archer doing his best to avoid the woman Tony had been forced to trust with his health. 

A sadistic part of him that had emerged during his stay in Afghanistan wanted Pine to make a mistake, to take his leniency at her presence for granted. To try one of her so called miracle drugs. It would give him great pleasure to know that she died a horrifically painful death. 

Turning sharply at a soft groan, Tony watched as Clint woke up. He didn’t rush forward, didn’t know how Clint reacted when forced into medical. It was better to stand back and wait for some signal Clint wanted him closer than to dive in like Tony wanted to, talking a mile a minute and reassure himself that Clint was still Clint. Those startling blue eyes caught his own. The moment held for a short eternity before Clint blinked and asked, “Where am I?”

Relief poured through him at the words. It sounded like Clint. Instead of answering, Tony asked, “How about you tell me what you remember first?”

His words earned him a scowl before Clint’s eyes unfocused as he thought. When the archer next spoke his tone was hesitant, almost as if he didn’t quite believe his memories. “SHIELD sent me after Steve. I can’t remember why but it was important to stop him at any cost. I have fuzzy memories of fighting him and taking a fist to the face.” 

An eyebrow was raised in his direction, and Tony sighed, this was not a conversation he was looking forward too. Squaring his shoulders, he responded to the unasked question, “That’s about the long and short of it. Except Peirce ordered you to be given three times the usual amount of their little cocktail and my doctors were pretty sure it was either going to fry your brain or explode your heart.” 

Tony looked away and crossed his arms over his chest. Shaking his head, he said, “Conifer Pine was brought in to save your life.” 

A tense silence broken only by the heart monitors steady beat enveloped the room before Clint said, “Come’re stupid.”

Looking over, Tony had to smile at the outstretched hand in his direction. Moving over, he took the hand and allowed himself to be brought in close. Calloused fingers closed around his wrist gently before Clint whispered, “You’re important to me too.” 

Helpless laughter bubbled up, and Tony giggled before he could stop it. Leaning his head down to rest against Clint's chest, Tony shivered and shook as the fear and anxiety that Clint would wake up and be someone else, or not remember dissipated into thin air. Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders as a gentle kiss was pressed to the crown of his head. 

It had taken a few minutes before Tony felt calm enough to shift into a more comfortable position. Clint moved right along with him, never allowing his contact to break. Tony appreciated the action more than he had words to describe. They laid together, tangled as much an IV line would allow, for a minutes before Tony told Clint, “I’m going to force Fury to give me the contracts. All of them.”

The shoulder his head rested on tensed. Tony knew he had a bad habit of throwing shocking information out with little consideration to what effect it would have on those around him. In the past two years, he had learned that when Clint tensed at something he said it was best to wait a minute until the archer had processed his stream of consciousness. They didn’t fight, not like his parents had with screaming the thrown objects, but the miscommunications that had happened had been fairly epic. Never once transferring to performance on the field but Tony had learned to have a bit of patience. There had just been something about Clint from the very beginning that drew him, told him this person was safe and would go to the ends of the earth to protect him. 

Tony would do whatever it took in return to see Clint protected in return. Even if it meant burning his bridges with the Avengers. 

The body under him had released a sigh before Clint asked, an odd tone in his voice, “And what are you going to do with them once you’ve got them?” 

Tony frowned and sat up to look Clint in the eye as he stated firmly, “Destroy them if possible, modify the fuck out of them if not and lock them away in a deep dark hole where no one will think to look so all of you can be free. Autonomy isn’t a privilege men in power can decide to give or take as it suits them and this is probably the best chance I’ve got to get them without bloodshed or being blackmailed. I have leverage right now in the form of the world looking for Fury to be their scapegoat for the sins of SHIELD. I’m not going to take the risk of those contracts being handed off to anyone else.” 

Hands cupped his face as his lips were taken in a demanding kiss. When they pulled back, Tony could see fears lingering in Clint’s eyes and reached out to tangle his fingers in silky soft locks. Tony was going to do this, he only hoped that it didn’t cost him Clint in the process.   
   
 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Fixed a screwed up plot point. 2200 06122017

Clint stood out of view with good sight lines on the little cafe a little more than two hundred yards down the street. An easy shot he could make in his sleep. An early morning on a subdued street off the beaten path wouldn’t even cause him to break a sweat. Natasha, Phil, and Hill were stationed at various locations around the coffee shop just in case. Clint wasn’t expecting any issues. He and Tony had put a lot of effort into their plan long before contacting the other recipients of Fury’s contracts.

He had been surprised to learn that there were five of them. It made a shiver of unease travel down his spine when Tony wouldn’t tell him who the fifth contract concerned. He had a sneaking suspicion that it involved his genius.

His genius.

A goofy smile spread across his face. Something poignant had changed after SHIELD had fallen. They had subtly shifted their relationship dynamics almost immediately following his release from the Tower’s medical facilities.

It probably helped that Tony had gotten into a rather loud argument with Conifer Pine right outside of his door as the woman tried to insist on being Clint’s primary physician. Tony hadn’t stood for that in the shortest. Which had lead to the woman asking why he had brought her to the Tower at all if not to keep an eye on Clint.

His smile widened into something fierce as he remembered Tony informing Pine that the only reason she was in the Tower was to save Clint’s life and since that had been accomplished he wasn’t sure why she was still there. When she had requested the implant removed Tony had flat out refused, citing that her long, documented history of illegal human experimentation needed someone to have a leash on her. Lest she get the idea into her head to try again with someone new funding her.

Footsteps behind him had Clint spinning with a gun in hand to find Steve standing behind him with his hands held up in surrender. Tony had warned him about Steve and his endless quests to apologize for things he felt responsible for, no matter how many times he’d been told it didn’t matter.

Rolling his eyes, Clint returned the gun to its holster before returning his attention to the street where Tony was about to meet with Fury and saying, “You shouldn’t be here, and I’ll kill you if you distract me from keeping Tony safe.”

There was a rustle of cloth from behind him, it made Clint nervous to not watch what Steve was doing, but Tony was more important. Moments later, Steve appeared in his peripheral vision and leaned against the wall. Gaze directed towards the street in the opposite direction of the meeting. There was silence as Clint observed Fury stalking up to the table Tony had chosen.

Clint almost wished he was closer to be able to hear what was being said. He knew in theory what was happening but Tony had a lot of pent up emotions regarding Fury, and the contracts that Clint was sure would come out in spectacularly snarky ways.

Steve’s voice broke the silence, “I actually tracked you down to apologize.”

Sighing, Clint responded as he checked his sights, “I’m aware, it's why I’ve been avoiding you for the last week. You don’t need to apologize to me, Steve.”

Clint saw the super soldier pinch the bridge of his nose out the corner of his eye and suppressed a grin. Annoying Steve was a bad habit that Clint shared with Tony. They just had different methods. Tony’s was accidental, and Clint’s was on purpose. He was prepared though when Steve just released a breath and said, “Say that all you like, but I do. I shouldn’t have agreed to help Fury keep a thumb on you. I hate bullies and from what little I’ve picked up Fury’s one of the most insidious. I promised myself when I lived through Project Rebirth that I’d always look out for the little guy. This time I was so lost I couldn’t even see what was right before my eyes. How many times did I watch you get back from a mission only to turn around and be sent out again? How many times have I helped you tape your ribs? How many conversations have I witnessed that literally ended with Fury giving you a look and saying just get it done? I might not have known about the contract, but there were signs that whatever was going on wasn’t on the level.”

Eyes scanning over Tony’s facial features looking for any signs of distress Clint asked, “Where’d you hear about my contract?”

Not seeing anything concerning, Clint flicked his eyes over to Steve. The super soldier was tense before attempting to shrug a shoulder casually. Clint really wanted to tell Steve that the super soldier and casual didn’t mix well and to stop trying. Instead, Clint listened as Steve said, “Well, um, you know that the serum enhanced all five senses yes?” At Clint’s nod, Steve continued, “So I maybe, with the right walls can hear through them without any issues.”

Blinking, Clint turned his attention back to watching Tony with Fury while his mind turned over that little tidbit of information. As unexpected as it was Clint wasn’t upset. Shocked but the familiar anger at one of his secrets being exposed didn’t rise. Finally, Clint shook his head and said, “Medical right? That’s where you heard?”

Movement from Fury down in the cafe had Clint’s attention narrowing down to the picture through his scope. Resting the rifle against his shoulder, he adjusted his windage to keep his sight picture trained on Fury for a kill shot. The Winter Soldier might have made the harder shot, but Clint had a thousand more reasons to make sure that his shot was true. When he was sure that the man wasn’t going to pull anything fast, Clint looked over at Steve with a raised eyebrow. The look on the super soldier’s face was complicated, but before Clint could ask, Steve said, “Yes, medical. You’re really prepared to shoot Fury aren’t you?”

Rolling his eyes, Clint said, “Don’t worry, I won’t miss like your bestie.”

Clint had watched the footage of the bridge and the helicarrier debacle. He’d recognized the Winter Soldier, what he hadn’t understood was Steve’s reluctance to inflict any real damage on the man. Jarvis hadn’t been able to get a good enough facial shot from any of the cameras to run recognition software, so Clint was shooting in the dark at the reason why. The shocked inhale was as good as a confession before Steve asked, “How did you know?”

Chuckling softly, Clint said, “Didn’t, not till you confirmed it. You know he killed Stark’s parents right? So asking for help tracking him down might be a bit of a challenge, I’d show up with a bribe if I were you.”

Steve’s response was quiet when he said, “I wasn’t planning on asking for help.”

Angry for the first time since he’d woken up in the Tower medical Clint demanded, “What the fuck dude? Why the hell not? Don’t tell me you’re playing chicken shit with talking to Stark.”

The silence that met his words was proof enough. Clint ground his teeth together and took a long slow breath before announcing, “Barnes isn’t the only one whose hands got dirty in that situation you know? The only reason I haven’t told Stark of _my_ part is that it was classified. No more SHIELD, no more secrets. You think I’m going to like that conversation? Shit, I have a hell of a lot more to lose than you do and I’ve already decided not to let this skeleton lay around waiting to be found in a closet. Shit like this always comes to light Steve.”

Glancing over at Steve, Clint found the super soldier picking at the hem of his jacket. Pursing his lips, Clint let the topic drop as he waited for the meeting to finish. It didn’t surprise him when Fury handed over file folders. The entire world was looking for Fury to be a scapegoat for all the evils a shady intelligence agency participated with and there was no one better at utilizing technology to track wayward Directors down than Tony Stark. Clint didn’t think his fellow contractees realized how serious Tony had been when the genius had told them he would take any measure necessary to ensure their security from Fury and any further megalomaniacs taking advantage of them. At the signal from Natasha, Clint started to rapidly pack up. He was heading for the stairs so he could head to the rendezvous point when Steve grabbed his arm.

Clint stopped and met Steve’s gaze over his shoulder, waiting. The super soldier released him and asked, “Promise me you won’t tell Tony?”

Considering his words, Clint replied, “I’ll respect your choices.” It took them four minutes to get to the SUV that was waiting for Clint and Natasha. She raised an elegantly manicured eyebrow at him when they showed up. Clint just shrugged in response. He wasn’t willing to discuss why Steve was with him. Not just yet.

The ride back to the Tower would have been just long enough for Clint to catch a nap if Steve hadn’t been in the back seat creating a silent chasm between him and Natasha. The SUV had barely stopped before he was out and grabbing his gear. Clint wanted a chance to think before confronting Tony. He also wanted a shower, but that had little to do with the conversation he was about to engage in.

Predictably, he got neither for the moment he stepped into his suite Tony was sitting at his breakfast bar doing something with a tablet far too fast for Clint to get any idea of what was happening. Dropping his bag next to the safe it all went in, Clint walked over to start a pot of coffee.

When it was finished Clint set a cup down for Tony on the counter and leaned with his own on the other side and waited. Tony couldn’t abide by someone staring at him without trying to fill the space with conversation. Counting to see how long it would take this time, Clint sipped on his coffee.

“What?”

Smiling, it took less than a minute Clint said, “I have bad news, worse news and life altering will probably ruin everything news. Which do you want first?”

He watched as Tony stared at him for a long minute before the genius asked, “None of them?”

Standing up straighter Clint shook his head and said, “I need you to hear me all the way out before you throw a temper tantrum or run away and hide, deal?”

There was a wary look on Tony’s face before the genius nodded and said, “Deal.”

Nodding back, Clint started, “In March of 1991, a contract was put up for bid. Surveillance and assassination of Howard Stark by an unknown, untraceable third party. I put a bid in and got the surveillance. By the time I was done, I would have shot that man for free. No one should treat their family like that. Later, I learned that the assassination had been done by the Winter Soldier, whom I have recently discovered was Hydra’s pet murder doll.”

Clint watched as Tony nodded, the gesture shaky. He wanted to move closer to sooth and comfort like he’d done so many times in the past. But Clint held his place, he’d just revealed that he’d been an instrumental piece in the circumstances that lead to the man losing his mother.

He was taking another sip of his coffee when Tony raised his head and asked, “How long does something like that take?”

“Weeks,” Clint answered without hesitation, waiting for the next question. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Was my mother part of the deal? Would you have gotten extra for taking her down?”

Clint shook his head and said, “No. She would have been collateral, and in my opinion, that sort of shit is unacceptable. My arrows only go into what I shoot them at. I would have waited until he was alone.”

Tony looked away for a long minute before he asked, “Do you know who this Winter Soldier is? Where I can find him?”

Clint hesitated before squaring his shoulders and saying, “The Winter Soldier isn't known as anything but the Winter Soldier and is or was a part of Hydra.”

He watched as Tony deflated and rubbed his forehead mumbling, “Right, you said he was Hydra.”

Clint’s heart ached at the sight. He wanted to make this easier, wanted to make the information untrue. Wished he’d been given Howard’s assassination as well so that Tony could have a face to blame for his grief and pain.

Tony asked, “Why now? Why not anytime in the last two years?” The line of questioning didn’t surprise Clint.

Shrugging a shoulder, Clint said, “Two reasons, the first SHIELD’s fallen, and you have my contract, so I no longer have to keep their secrets and second I’ve actually got the full picture of what happened. Before today, I would only have been able to tell you that I watched and provided the intel needed to set your father up to be killed and that someone else did the dirty work. That someone was rumored to have been the Winter Soldier.”

A fist hitting the breakfast bar surprised Clint before Tony snarled, “This wasn’t a secret SHIELD had anything to do with!”

Shaking his head, Clint replied, “You’re right, but if I told you secrets from my time before SHIELD but told you I couldn't say any of the SHIELD ones what would you have done?”

He watched as the genius deflated in his chair, slumping to a slouch before answering, “I would have gone looking for the answers you were hiding.”

Clint nodded and said, “Which would have tripped all sorts of flags for Fury because I know you, Tony. You wouldn’t have been able to resist rubbing it in his face that you’d been playing around in his system again. Which would have lead to either me or Tasha being forced to betray your trust. Not telling you anything was safer than trying to give enough to satisfy but not enough to Google.”

There was a look of utter devastation on Tony’s face as the genius looked away towards the windows. Still, Clint waited. This was pretty much the biggest bombshell he could have chosen to drop on the genius and was positive that Tony would get up and walk out just as soon as the shock wore off. Then things would go one of two ways. Most likely would be that Tony would hole up in his workshop and lock Clint out until he ceased trying to get in and would act like there had been nothing going on between them after Tony emerged or Tony would tell Clint that things were over and request he move out.

Clint wasn’t sure what he was going to do if it was the second option and didn’t really want to push things in that direction. He didn’t regret his actions. His job at that time had been to assassinate people in exchange for vast sums of money, Howard Stark had been a job. In his mind, there was nothing else to it. Clint knew that being on the other side of that fence was tough though. Karla may have made some seriously questionable choices, but his former lover had always had the best intentions. She’d wanted to make the world a better place, wanted Clint to help her do it. SHIELD had ordered her taken out of the game when it had come to light that Clint was in love with her. His only consolation had been that the shot had been clean and Karla hadn’t suffered. One moment she had been alive and vibrantly beautiful, and the next she was dead with a bullet through the brain.

Staring into space, lost in his memories as he was Clint failed to notice when Tony moved. The first brush of cold fingers over his wrist made him jump even as his eyes snapped over to meet Tony’s. The genius offered him a tentative smile before explaining, “I want to be mad, I want to be mad at you. I want to hate you. But it was just a job. Someone wanted Howard dead and didn’t care who got in the way to achieve that.”

Clint moved his arm up so Tony could curl into his side when the genius nudged him and wrapped Tony in a one armed hug with his nose buried in the genius’s hair. It smelled fruity, which meant that it had recently been washed and styled professionally. With a sigh of relief, Clint said, “I’m sorry for the loss of your mother.”

He felt Tony nod against his shoulder before the genius whispered, “I wish I’d tried harder to get her to stay home that night. I wish I’d known you then because maybe you would have warned me to keep her safe, keep her away from Howard. I wish that he hadn’t pissed so many people off that they wanted him dead.”

Clint could understand that; he’d lost people too. Lost his mother when he was barely old enough to remember to one of his father’s drunken rages. It wasn’t the same and would never really compare, but Clint could empathize. Contrary to SHIELD’s popular opinion he wasn’t actually a sociopath. He just reserved his empathy for those he trusted. He saw more than felt Tony’s arms wrap around his waist. The heavy duty body armor Tony had built into his suit was lightweight and flexible enough he could still contort and move like he’d always done. But unless he took a bullet (or some other strange form of ammunition that the Avengers had occasionally run across) there was very little he could actually feel through the dense fabric.

Clint relaxed as Tony moved back from him to lean against the counter crossing his arms over his chest. He went back to sipping his coffee and watching Tony. Whatever was going through the genius’s mind, it had the man frowning. Which meant that the problem was either frustrating or complicated. Clint gave a mental shrug and supposed that the problem could also be frustrating and complicated, but most problems Tony solved were the ones that were frustrating and complicated to everyone else. Instead of asking the inane question, what are you thinking? Clint just watched.

The workshop wasn’t off limits to Clint, but he avoided the space out of an unspoken consideration for Tony. That was where the genius went when he was working or needed space. That was where Tony felt safest, so Clint respected that and left Tony alone for the most part. The downside was that he rarely got the opportunity to watch Tony while the genius worked through problems and created brilliance.

Tony reaching behind him to grab the cup of coffee Clint had given him drew Clint’s focus. He watched as Tony drank the beverage before the genius asked, “Do you know who the Winter Soldier is?”

Clint nodded. His lack of explanation got him an eyebrow raise before Tony prompted, “Will you tell me?”

Clint rolled the question over in his head before saying, “That’s not my secret to tell.”

Amber eyes narrowed at him, a hint of anger taking up residence on Tony’s face as he said, “And whose secret is it to tell?”

Clint hesitated for all of half a second before he said, “Steve.”

Respecting a choice didn’t mean a promise of secrecy and Clint was fucking tired of keeping shit from his lover. Now that Fury didn’t control his life, there was no reason to keep secrets. Not his own, not anyone else’s. Not without a damn good reason and as far as Clint could tell, Steve didn’t have a good reason.

Tony saying, “Of course, Steve.” was kind of the icing on the cake.  
 

**Author's Note:**

> The following provided character insight for this fiction:
> 
>  
> 
> [Id Est](http://archiveofourown.org/series/65386)
> 
>  
> 
> [Overkill](http://archiveofourown.org/works/487548/chapters/850022)
> 
>  
> 
> [Time to Rebuild (The Ruins You Left Behind)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2128713/chapters/4647525)
> 
>  
> 
> [A Different Kind of Knight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2508068/chapters/5569988)


End file.
